


A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes

by dontknowcats



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cinderella AU, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-20 06:34:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3640377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontknowcats/pseuds/dontknowcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Atheva is a poor elf working for the wretched Lady Cuvillier and her two daughters. Cullen is the handsome prince of the kingdom of Ferelden. Sound familiar?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sing Sweet Nightingale

_Once upon a time in a small kingdom there lived a girl named Atheva._

“Atheva! Where is breakfast?”

“Coming, my lady! Would you like some tea while you wait?”

_Atheva was born to an elven family. But both of her parents died when she was a young age, leaving her to be sold to a rich human household. The head of the household was the mean-spirited Lady Cuvillier._

“No, I would like breakfast now!” Came the loud scream of her Lady. It always hurt her ears to be near her, but it did explain why Lady Cuvillier’s two daughters could never seem to hear any rude remark someone made behind their backs.

When she worked in the kitchen, Atheva would always raise her skirt up and stuff the hem into her apron, allowing her legs to cool off as she cooked and cleaned; when she worked out in the more public areas of the house guests were sure to visit, she always wore her clothes in a more polite and correct manner. Hearing Cuvillier's request for breakfast to be served as soon as possible, she quickly pulled the skirt of her dress down out of her apron, the fabric brushing against her ankles as she turned to remove the pot of oatmeal from above the fire.

Before she could even begin to think about spooning the mush into a serving bowl, she ran across the kitchen to the wood burning stove to make sure the druffalo sausage was cooked through enough to serve. It was a whirlwind of activity, much like her normal mornings.

“Atheva!”

“Just a few more minutes, my lady!” Came her nervous response, gathering up the plates to rush to the dining room. Her bare feet made no noise upon the stone floor as she rushed through the kitchen door, only to find Lady Cuvillier right behind it and in her path.

_Lady Cuvillier’s husband had been a wealthy merchant known across Ferelden, who brought many things back to his family from his travels across Thedas. Sadly, he had been lost in a storm upon the Waking Sea when returning from the Free Marches. Lady Cuvillier still mourned a year later._

She was dressed in the finest clothes for a woman of her status; a dress made of fine Orlesian silk with a royal blue bodice and full black skirt, decorated with the image of crystal grace. Her figure was hugged by a bone corset, creating the illusion of a small waist and large bust. The woman’s hair was pulled up high above her head, her blonde curls piled upon one another. Her face was made up to look natural, though her eyes looked larger and her lips fuller with a simple black line upon the edge of her eyelids and rouge rubbed upon her lips.

Her shrill screaming made the crash of the china even worse, making Atheva want to plug her ears.

“Breakfast is not ready and now my fine plates are broken! Why do I even keep you around?! You’re another useless knife-ear that deserves to go and starve in an alienage!” Lady Cuvillier took a deep breath before continuing, her voice lower in pitch and volume. “You’re very lucky, however, that I’m a nicer woman than some of the other Ferelden nobles and that I let you eat our food and live in the house with us… You earn your keep when you aren’t a clumsy oaf.”

“Th-Thank you, my lady,” Atheva whispered, kneeling before her to clean up the mess she had made on the floor. ‘Was that even a compliment? Just take it all in stride, just think of the good things that could happen later today,’ she thought, trying to keep her head up high despite the abuse.

“Now hurry and get breakfast ready. Once you clean up the kitchen and eat, you may go to Redcliffe to find a replacement set of china,” she replied before turning upon her heel. As the Lady of the house left, Atheva continued to pick up any small slivers of porcelain upon the floor only to hear the approaching footsteps of the sisters.

“Atheva!” Whined Camilla, the older of the two, “We’re hungry! Hurry up with breakfast!”

“It’ll be ready as soon as I finish cleaning this up, I promise.”

Idris, the youngest sister, stood behind Camilla and said not a word, which was very odd. But Atheva had too much to focus on to notice as she picked up the final visible piece. Tossing it with the others upon her apron, she lifted up the garment and stood, thankful that the pieces of the plates stayed put inside of the hold of the plain cloth. And that was when Idris finally broke her silence.

The black-haired female slammed her palms against the back of Atheva’s hand with enough force to make her yelp and lose her grip on her apron, making the pieces fall back to the ground.

“Hurry up with breakfast!” She squealed before the two turned and left, laughing along the way. Such was Atheva’s morning routine.

_Atheva was a kind servant, putting up with the atrocities of the family day in and day out with the hopes that one day her kindness would be returned. The other servants of the house had been fired a year after Lord Cuvillier’s death, but Atheva was kept behind since she did not have to be paid in anything but shelter and food._

The elf’s day continued as usual, with the typical slurs tossed her way as she worked. Lady Cuvillier’s friends arrived at noon for tea and made comments about her appearance, speaking loud enough that she could hear them and understand that they were talking about her.

“Those tattoos always look wretched, why do you not give her any makeup to cover up with?”

“One of those awful Orlesian masks would be better suited upon her face. Easier to look at.”

“Gloves to cover the ones on her hands.”

“What about her ears?”

“See a specialist, maybe? Bandages would be better than those.”

It always hurt her feelings to hear them speak about her in such a manner, but it was the general opinion from all guests that visited her Lady. She had grown up hearing such things, and it made her wonder why she had been born an elf. Sometimes she cried herself to sleep at night, begging the Maker and His beloved Andraste to make her something different, something beautiful.

When she was dismissed from the group, she walked out of the room with her head held high, but her demeanor changed as soon as she was out of sight. She ran to her small room in the attic and collapsed upon the old mattress she called her bed. Hidden beneath the lumpy thing was a shard of a mirror that Camilla had broken in anger weeks ago, screaming something unintelligible about how Atheva had messed up her makeup.

She lifted up the corner of the mattress to find the mirror piece and took a careful hold of it. Hesitantly she brought it to her face, wanting to see her imperfections. Her vallaslin, said by her mother to be associated with the old Elven god June, was visible at her throat and crawled up to her lower lip. It covered her forehead and curled down beside her deep brown eyes. The design continued upon her body, twisting around her arms and legs, the center of the entire tattoo sitting upon her stomach.

Her plain tan dress hid most of her body (and therefor her vallaslin) from sight. The sleeves were too long, but she was able to tie them above her elbows with strings to keep them from falling into her way. She had hemmed it herself, too, since it used to drag on the floor. It had been a cheap buy for herself with the change from a purchase on her twenty-fourth birthday, since her old dress had been getting tighter around the shoulders and chest area.

Her ears peeked out between her red hair, and she had always attempted to style her hair to hide them when she went out anywhere with Lady Cuvillier (at the woman’s orders). When she remained at home her hair sat plainly at her back in a braid, easy to keep out of her face when she cleaned and cooked.

Her nose was like a humans, as well as her lips. Her eyes were a bit larger, yes, but they weren’t “disturbing.” Just because of her tattoo and her ears, she was lesser than anyone else? She wasn’t beautiful, had no chance of finding someone to love her? As she focused on these questions, her blood began to boil and she knew she had to go to the forest.

Behind the Cuvillier manor sat a forest that was populated with various wild animals. Ever since she was brought to the estate, Atheva made it a point to visit it whenever she could. But once the other servants had been dismissed, she found herself visiting it less and less. But she needed to go. She had to go to escape the oppressive atmosphere she found herself in.

Quietly she made her way downstairs, trying to keep out of Lady Cuvillier’s sight. If she were caught, she would be forced to stay throughout every visitation to the estate and kept under her thumb. Talk about a waking nightmare.

Luckily the group of women were too busy discussing their daughters and how they wished they could “return” to Orlais (every woman was supposedly born and raised there, but were married off to Ferelden men) to notice the quiet footed elf escaping to the stable. The girls and their mother never rode the horses anymore, but they kept three just in case they decided to return to the hobby.

Atheva took care of them, gaining their trust over the years. Her favorite of the three was a spunky thoroughbred mare she had lovingly named Daisy. She had only been thirteen when she had named her, but never regretted it. It was the closest she would have to having her own Hala, and she had loved to pretend that she was the First of her clan, fetching the Keeper’s mount when told to bring Daisy out for little Idris.

The mare was older now, but still eager to go out for runs with the elf into the forest. She pranced in place, ready to let Atheva ride her with no idea where they were headed. When the gate opened, she stepped out of her stall and shook her head, giving a soft nicker in greeting before huffing air out of her nose.

Atheva smiled and reached out to rest her hand against the slope of her nose, giggling when Daisy pushed her head against her palm. She gripped her mane, curling her fingers into the coarse hairs and pulled herself up onto the mare’s bare back. Once she felt comfortable and situated upon her, she dug her heels into the sides of the horse.

Daisy broke into started out at a trot before easing herself into a full run. The wind blew back Atheva’s hair when she freed it of the braid and her worries flew with it as they rushed into the forest.


	2. Perfectly Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atheva's ride in the woods captures the attention of a certain royal.

Atheva pressed her body down against Daisy, feeling the vibrations of her hooves hitting the ground as they rode fast out into the forest. The feeling of the wind against her face and in her hair, her adrenaline rushing as they jumped fallen logs, it was all enough for her to forget her anger and worries.

The colors of nature rushed by, greens and browns and the occasional periwinkle, crimson, and yellow of the varying flowers. Every so often when she turned her head she would be greeted to the sight of a fennec fox attempting to keep up with the horse and its rider.

Visiting the forest was always a relaxing and breath-taking experience, for one never knew what they would run into. Or almost run into.

When Daisy came to a sudden stop, Atheva had to dig her fingers into her palm and cut her skin to hold on tight enough to her mane to keep from toppling head-first onto the ground. “Daisy, what was tha—“ When she pushed her hair out of her face and looked up, she found herself staring into the eyes of a beautiful Red Hart. What was it doing out there? They were domesticated steeds, so why was the one in front of her without a rider and without a saddle?

A horn blasted in the distance and her stomach fell.

“Go,” she whispered, making gestures for it to run away. When it refused to move, she jumped off of Daisy and walked towards it slowly. “Go, get out of here!” She said, louder this time in an attempt to startle it off. The sound of approaching hooves helped her case and prompted her to run back to and mount Daisy. She wasn’t able to see the hart run off further into the woods.

She pressed her heels back into Daisy’s side, hoping that she too would go further into the woods. Instead the mare broke back into the same pace as before and ran towards the horns. “Daisy! Daisy, no!” She hissed, having heard stories from Lady Cuvillier about elves being captured in the woods by Tevinter slavers and sold overseas.

Through a thin wall of trees she saw a group of men riding on horseback, mabari running ahead of them. A few of the hounds took notice of her and growled in her direction before returning to the rest of the pack to presumably chase down the hart from before. One of the men also took notice of the racing horse across the way.

Cullen Stanton Rutherford, the crown prince of the kingdom of Ferelden, couldn’t help but wonder who he had just seen. It had been enough to distract the dogs despite their training and his curiosity was getting the better of him. With no warning he tugged back on the reigns of his horse and turned his steed around before racing after the figure he had seen ride by.

Atheva began to pull back on Daisy’s mane, glancing behind her to make sure she was safe. The sight of one of the men chasing after her made her heart quicken and she pushed her heels back against the mare’s side. “Go, go!” How she cursed her luck and her emotions, pushing her to run off in the middle of the day into the woods with no one knowing her location. She was going to be captured, probably sold off to an even worse estate than her current.

“Wait!” Cullen called, his horse catching up much faster than the elf had anticipated. He was growing exasperated with the chase, though it was definitely more exhilarating than the usual hunt. “Please, wait! I won’t hurt you!” He called, noticing that the two were running towards a rock wall.

Daisy began to slow and Atheva continued to kick her heels into her sides. “Daisy, please!” She whimpered, turning to see the man almost right beside her.  Before she could jump off of the horse and run off into the thick trees, he gripped her wrist. Not hard enough to hurt, but tight enough to keep her there.

“I’m sorry if I scared you, miss, but are you alright?” He asked, his eyes locking right onto hers.

Atheva tugged her hand out of his hold, and was surprised when he kept his hands near himself. He wasn’t interested in pushing into her personal space, nor did he seem all that threatening. His crooked smile reached his hazel eyes. He had a noticeable scar reaching upwards from the left side of his upper lip, but that was the only menacing thing about him. He wore product in his hair, keeping it styled like so many young men she saw now a days, but the natural curl was still visible.

His attire was something like what one of the guests son’s had worn to the estate for a party, but even better looking. She could tell he was well built through his shirt, his muscles probably from training for the army. As she studied the fabric of his shirt, trying to guess at whether it was more expensive than the ones she had seen before, she saw the royal family’s crest decorating a small area of the left breast.

While she was busy trying to figure out how to apologize to a part of the royal family, he was left studying her in awe. He could feel his cheeks burn with the intensity of a forest fire, and he was sure she could see it. He had never been in the presence of an elf outside of the castle, where they were all perfectly poised and primped so as to be presentable to serve anyone that needed them.

The woman in front of him was stunning, her vallaslin framing her face perfectly and decorating her hands in an interesting pattern. Her hair was blown about from the wind, but it settled in such a manner that she looked like a powerful warrior that had just finished fighting for her life. ‘I need to stop reading those awful romance novels,’ he thought to himself before straightening his posture when she spoke.

“I’m sorry for running. If I had known you were a member of the royal family…” She spoke plainly, bowing her head in a quick motion of respect. His eyes visibly widened and he quickly shook his head.

“Oh, no, no! I’m merely an apprentice at the castle. Studying under one of the knights,” he offered, hoping she would take the bait. She didn’t seem interested in speaking with a royal and had reverted to how a servant would act when she spoke. Judging by the way she relaxed and perked up, he had said the right thing.

“An apprentice? Then why are you hunting a hart? Well, why would you hunt a domesticated hart anyway?” She asked, growing defensive as her fingers gripped the coarse mane of Daisy.

“It’s just… tradition,” he replied, though he realized his mistake as soon as he spoke.

“Why not break it? Start a new one where you actually ride what you breed?” She asked, her lips curling downwards in a tight frown.

“I… I’ll have to ask about that,” he said, reaching a hand to rub the back of his neck. “I’ve never thought about being one to challenge tradition, but… I’m sure someone would listen.”

“Hopefully they will,” she replied with a nod. They sat in silence for a moment, him looking around awkwardly while she checked her hands to make sure she wouldn’t bleed everywhere.

“A-Are you alright?” His voice was thick with worry as he noticed her bleeding palms. He turned to the saddlebag beside him, beginning to dig through for cloth to wrap her hands in.

“I’ll be fine, Daisy just came to a… sudden stop.” When he looked up, she was finally smiling and his heart beat in his ears.

“Oh. Um, well, here,” he muttered, holding out two pieces of white cloth. He turned away, hoping not to be caught blushing as badly as before.

“Would you mind?”

“What?” She was holding her hands out for him to wrap, and he sighed. “I’m sorry, of course.” He tried to keep his mind off of her watching him, his fingers brushing across her skin, and how the rest of her vallaslin must have looked upon her body. ‘Cut it out, Cullen, you awful pervert!’ He snapped at himself as he tied the first wrap around her right hand. Once the second was tied, he brought his hands back in front of him to grip the reigns of his horse.

“I’m afraid I haven’t caught your name yet, Miss,” he said softly, only to be interrupted by a member of his entourage approaching.

“Your highness!”

“My name is Cull,” he said loudly, trying to keep her from hearing the approaching male. “Or at least, that’s what my father calls me. What is it, Dorian?”

The man approached the two with a knowing grin, looking as if he might start twirling his groomed mustache at any moment. “Oh, nothing, _Cull_ ,” he replied with a soft chuckle, “It’s just that you’ve lost sight of both the hunting party and the hart.”

“I-“ The blonde glanced over at Atheva, who was watching the Tevinter man curiously. “I think I’m done for the day, actually. If you’d be kind enough to tell everyone else that I’m heading back to the castle?” He suggested, moving his head in such a manner that Dorian knew just what he was trying to say.

“Oh my,” the royal adviser muttered, his grin growing sly in nature as he turned his horse around. He gave a light wave in the elf’s direction before riding off out of the grove.

“I’m, ah, sorry about that…” Cullen said with a sheepish grin, his mouth opening to ask her name once more.

“It’s alright. I’m afraid I have to be back home anyways. It was nice to meet you, Cull,” she replied with a sweet smile. She tugged on Daisy’s mane, urging her to turn around so they could leave.

As he watched her go, the only thing the prince could think of was how stunning her smile had been. His cheeks blushed pink once more as he smiled like an idiot.

“Did you get her name, your highness?” Dorian asked as he returned to his friend, “We could try and invite her to tea or something.”

_“…Andraste’s ass.”_


	3. Work Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and his friends figure out a way to find his dream girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long and is so short. Next chapter should come faster and much longer (winkwink).

Cullen's stomach was in knots. He couldn't stop thinking about the elf from the woods. She wasn’t the first he had run into; he had met a few wandering Dalish elves before, though they had all been _with their clan_.

They had also been dressed like travelers, but she had been dirtier, her dress in a worse state than the clothing of _nomads_. Perhaps she was an illegal slave trapped under the title of servant? His jaw clenched at the thought and he dropped his eyes to the floor.

“Is something wrong?” Dorian asked, snapping his fingers in front of his friend’s face. “I’ll warn you, it’s impossible to guess an elf’s name. At least in my experience.”

“Ah, I suppose,” the prince mumbled, “I just… How will I find her again? I don’t think I can scour the entirety of Ferelden for just one girl whose name I don’t know. I couldn’t even request an accurate portrait due to her… her tattoos.” He gestured towards his face, unsure of the correct name of the markings.

“Vallaslin.”

Cullen turned when he heard the advisor approach the two males.

“Ah, Josephine. Do you have any ideas?” Dorian asked with a spread of his arms for emphasis on her arrival, “Since you actually know something about elves and the Dalish, you’re better off helping Cullen than I.”

“From how you described her I would say treat her like a human being, like you did in the forest, and most everything should be fine. The main problem, as you said, is you not knowing her name or her location,” the Antivan stated simply, barely looking up from her board. Her quill scurried about the parchment placed on the board, making her busyness well known to the two men. “Though if you were to find her we would have an even bigger problem.

“What would the leaders of Orlais think if the heir to the throne in Ferelden was seen with an elf? Was known to have a relationship with an elf? If you want to have relations with this woman, you’re going to have to keep them hidden.” Her quill stopped moving and she looked up, her eyes conveying her sorrow. “And you don’t seem like the kind of man who can handle having his lover under wraps and locked only in your heart where no one can see her.”

Cullen’s blood froze and his heart stopped as he thought about it. He could never imagine doing to any person what his father had done with his mistress. She wasn’t his mother or anything like that, no, but he remembered how nice she was. The woman would give him sweets when he was younger, despite how sad she looked only moments before. She would then be escorted back to her quarters for Maker knows how long.

He didn’t know her name. He knew nothing about her since she had killed herself when he was only nine, but he knew he would never be able to do that to any living being.

“I’m sure we could figure something out,” he said quickly, knowing that if he ever saw the girl as sad as his father’s mistress he would be unable to live with himself.

“First we should probably focus on finding her. Obviously she lives in or near Denerim, if she was in the forest,” Dorian said, cupping his chin in thought.

“Obviously we need a way that will allow us to find her without the need of traveling,” Josephine muttered as she went back to writing.

The group was quiet for a few minutes, lost in thought on how to find the prince’s dream girl.

“What about a gathering?” Dorian offered up. “We can invite the public and hope that she’ll come as well.”

“Your father has been telling you to find a suitable partner. Perhaps we can throw a ball under the guise of finding one?” Josphine set her quill in the ink pot upon her board, smiling to Cullen as she waited for an answer.

“It’s a far-fetched idea… Why not? We haven’t had a ball in years, Father should approve, and the public will enjoy it. If she doesn’t come, I’ll drop any thought of her and marry whomever.” Cullen decided, nodding his head as if in agreement.

“You can’t be serious! Whomever could be a whore from the brothel all the soldiers go to; if she doesn’t show up let _me_ gather up a few suitors for you to choose from,” Dorian protested. His hand fell from his chin and moved to Cullen’s shoulder, gripping it tight. “But she will show up.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll offer up the idea to Father and then we can prepare.” 

 

* * *

 

Atheva had been tasked with following the two Cuvillier girls out to market, buying basic necessities for cooking and thread for sewing while making sure to carry whatever things the girls purchased. There was a single sovereign and a few pieces of copper left in her purse, though only one of the coppers was rightfully hers.

The three were about to leave for the day when they heard the town crier call for attention.

“Castle Rutherford cordially invites the public of Denerim to a ball in one fortnight. King Rutherford will be making his decision on his son’s suitor public thereafter. All eligible peoples are invited to dance with the prince. The Royal Court wishes all a blessed day. _Blessed be the Maker!_ ”

The crowd was abuzz with excitement over being invited to the castle for a ball. A ball! There hadn’t been one in years, the last being before Atheva had arrived. The sisters were so excited.

“A ball! Wait until mother hears that I’m going to marry the prince!” Camilla squealed, bouncing up and down with adrenalin.

“You?! I’m going to marry the prince, just wait!” Idris retorted, giving her sister a quick shove.

Atheva was too busy thinking about seeing Cull once more to notice the girls fighting. Even if she had been hesitant to talk to him, she considered him a friend. One of the only ones she had, in fact. Perhaps if she was allowed to go she could find and speak to him.

The three began to make their way back to their carriage, the two sisters still snapping at each other and their servant in her own world.


End file.
